Jan 2021
A collection of poetic writings
Of questionable mastery
THE
FIRST TOME
There are many forms and styles
Of poetic expression that I am
Just beginning to be introduced to
And understand
A number were written prior to my joining the
All Poetry site and beginning my education
To me, poetry is rhyme and rhythm, but
It has form, as I have learnt.
This booklet will only allow 16 pages
Of which this is the second, so
The remaining 14 will carry a number of
Pre All Poetry, and post All Poetry
And hopefully you may perceive
An improvement
AMERICAN SUMMER
A Blackmans death, caused by police
Subsumes the brain, and reason kills
And primal animal contained, released
To the world displays their ills
Subsumes the brain, and reason kills
Property garners but scant regards
To the world displays their ills
Respect of any, is shattered shards
Property garners but scant regards
As need to possess, over rides all else
Respect of any, is shattered in shards
It’s take what you can, from any shelf
As need to possess, over rides all else
The reason for the riot is lost
Its take what you can from any shelf
The black man’s life
The reason for the riot is lost
As other feelings rule the mind
At looting time it’s free of cost
As Humanity leaves civilisation behind
As other feelings rule the mind
Mankind gone feral, no longer smart
As humanity leaves civilisation behind
A blackman’s dying, tore life apart
AGES OF MAN
A stage, they say a joke that is
A plank upon the ground
Players they say, the people is
They’ll beat you pound for pound
Their entrances and exits,
will keep unto themselves
and as for seven ages
that’s what this story tells
man begins all worm like
a kid a useless thing
poops, and pukes and whines a lot
and doesn’t earn a thing
Schoolboys next, Oh! God forbid
Why did we make this one
It must have been that point in time
When I did some stuff for fun
The lover , ah!, my ***** did melt
A poet he did try
The effect upon the mistress’s brow
Did make the eyebrow cry
The military man, so full of spit
And polish at the fore
Did play his part, with bearded kit
And veered the cannons gore
Age number six has changed the scope
To a lean and loudly man
Whose time is on the downward *****
And no longer in the van
Seven ages man will glory in
Not all we wish to recall
Love and home, and wondrous sin
As begun will finish small
Bedtime Story (Homework No 5 Pantoum
The child did love their bedtime read
With granddad sitting on the bed
The Knight & hero’s rearing steed
And in the story her childhood shed
With grandad sitting on the bed
The hero’s steed went racing past
And in the story her childhood shed
The royal queen she came at last
The hero’s steed went racing past
And stopped the dragon there and then
The royal queen she came at last
Helped herd the beast back to its pen
And stopped the dragon there and then
From having chook and pig repast
Helped herd the beast back to its pen
And granddad closed the book at last
From having chook and pig repast
The story ran down to the end
And granddad closed the book at last
The next book read, the child would lend
The story ran down to the end
No further words left to be said
The next book read the child would lend
With granddad sitting on the bed
Christmas Thought
We gather here on Christmas eve
to share part of the joy
2000 years ago this day
Mary would have a boy
that day affirmed mans place in life
the woman to her chores
and life upon this blissful earth
was governed by mans laws
years have past and times have changed
relationships are growing
of woman's emergence from the home
into the place of knowing
who knows what life would have been like
if Mary had, had a girl
would have have held his rightful place
or ended up a churl
no matter how it would have been
it is, as it is, to-day
kinds thoughts & joy to all mankind
with love on Christmas day
the feeling of love to all mankind
its stay is rather short
there is no place for thoughts like that
in a world where wars are fought
life's hard cruel lessons, shut us in
we dare not - extend or feel
until that time round Christmas eve
when we give thanks, as we pray and kneel
William Hancock penned: 20.12.82 (pre AP)
Faerie Symphony
brushing his fingers across the glistening crystals
produced a cacophony of harsh discordant notes
rebounding off the caverns walls and music thoughts did smote
Placing hands upon the crystals, calming down the thrum
fingers selecting differing lengths, did flex and start to drum
harmony like butterflies, did rise as motes in light
traversing down the caverns walls and drifting to the night
outside the valley trembled, uplifted, and it sighed
the gentle folk looked inwardly, but outwardly they cried
taking his fingers from the glistening crystals,
they died
LITTLE MISS MUFFET
Miss Muffet was a comely girl
and turned the heads of most
But wouldn't share her curds and whey
A really dreadful host
The field held an eight legged beast
Whose local name was schnider
He managed to get her curds and whey
when he went and sat beside her
It is better to share than to lose it all
Bill Hancock
07.04.2020
Fates Feast
watching his body, sink slowly into the tree
this I laughed is your, reward deserved for jilting me
laughed again, and watched his unmatched beauty fade
realised too late, the wastefulness of mistake I've made
the prince his body slowly turned, to timber light and fair
wondered sinking further in, I really thought she cared
I courted her with flowers and commented on her hair
It seems I would have better luck, If I had spoken to the bear
Revenge the forest maiden, reeked on the prince in spades
now he was ever with her, part of the forest glade
her demands she thought were simple, leave all and live with me
and feast upon the passersby for dinner lunch and tea
the prince he was a vegan who tried to sway her round
made out greens were good for her, beat meat, by the pound
the maidens heart was broken, in tatters lay her dream
when he refused, ensorcelled him into the forest green
These days on paths less travelled, in the forest down the way
a magnificent tree stands from the rest, its beauty on display
Not many pass it anymore, as they say it's haunted still
By the soul of the forest maiden, who died lonely on the hill
Hiccup of the Mind
Have you ever tapped the keyboard
Then looked at what was written
accessing where the thoughts were stored
And found the rhyming process stricken
Panic doesn't quite occur
Between the ears, a blank
words to page no longer purr
Encyclopedic knowledge sank
leave the keyboard and the chair
a glass with ice and liquid gold
Sip and savour, ceiling stare
berate ones self and blank mind scold
From off left field, revelation comes
fingers keyboarding begins again
The words you're reading are the sum
For from out of mind, letters do rain
Bad Location
Do they consider me
I don't think so
Other wise they wouldn't
Stand where they stand
Think of what it means
to be a tree
try to imagine where
my fingers are
The girl is standing on them
I choose this spot
For the solitude it promised
****** tourists
Macbeths Misadventure
(a parody of Bill Shakespeare’s Macbeth and the three witches brew a spell)
Macbeth whilst travelling stopped at the pub
A cauldron and three hats on the sign
Had heard from others how good was the grub
And entered with drink and a stew in mind
The cooks, three weathered crones did strive
To keep the patrons upright and live
this struggle you know was a hapless one
already knowing what went in the drum
Newt and frog and dog and bat
The first crone donned a pointed hat
Snake and adder worm and wing
The second crone donned the apron strings
Toad and venom, entrails too
The third crone added nightshade brew
Double trouble, don’t add no more
The broths near walking out the door
a steaming *** was served Macbeth
the sight of which removed his breath
The vapours turned his nose hairs green
His liver hid behind his spleen
A mouthful made his eyelids quiver
His entrails turned into a river
His mind did cartwheels in his head
Two mouthfuls and he’d be stone dead
Refusing nicely, he said had troubles
Left a tip, he paid them double
Listen not what others say
And live to see another day
The Musician
Resting her body on the chaired podium
And leaning slightly down to the left
Her fingers caressed the highly polished surface
Of the Cello
Left hand clasping the frets
And the right hand wielding the bow
She addressed the strings with a gentle wave
And made the music flow
Somber, sounds, moaned off the instrument
Quickening and they rose in tone and pitch
Wrapping around the chamber
In a haunting hugging melody
Rising, rushing, falling and softening
Harsh and hard, then silent, but wait
Hand twitches and the refrain returns
Only to die again, as the hand falls away
Returning the cello to its resting place
And the bow into its niche
Her hand runs gently over the polished timber
The caress of a lover and friend
The Book
A thing that comes in black and White
and some times in colours as well
with words and concepts, one can write
scenes and stories, in minds to dwell
it's such a simple seeming thing
two covers, some pages between
with words that have the authors ring
Fact or fiction the reader gleans
A simple start on bark or stick
or was it paint upon a wall
to carvings on stone walls and brick
waiting discovery, then tell all
today we progress further still
into the realm of digital times
where phone or tablet makes the ****
and hand held printed book declines
regardless of the current trend
hand held books are still much loved
and continue to be there to lend
for as long as man can use a pen
© a month ago, Bill Hancock
The Lizard Slithered
Crawling stealthy below the leaves
eyeing insects upon the trees
mosquito's winging with the breeze
the lizard slithered - tongue flicked free
eyeing insects upon the trees
climbing tree's to gain it's dinner
the lizard slithered - tongue flicked free
it must eat or grow much thinner
climbing tree's to gain its dinner
mosquito's high upon its list
it must eat or grow much thinner
though beetles added meaty grist
mosquito's high upon its list
the lizards belly filling fast
though beetles added meaty grist
none of its food was made to last
the lizards belly filling fast
cold air came calling in the breeze
none of its food was made to last
the lizard slithered - tongue flicked free
cm coli picture prompt lizard slithered 120 words © a month ago, Bill Hancock rhyme
Wordsmiths Hey
Have you ever wondered of poets
And the things they do try to write
Does it take, five minutes of writing
Or four candles worth, into the night
does the theme come from somebody social
or seeps out from ones deep inner dark
or comments from words thrown out vocal
from jibes that like barbs hit their mark
the words from mind's vault, start to line up
some jumbled, some straight, others curved
with a headiness, like good wine that's supped
A poet's souls being readied to serve
After theme, then the style is selected
And if rhyme, then the rhythm as well
If the endings or rhymes not connected
It's the poets, equivalent of hell
If freestyle, I'm not sure what matters
If Haiku, it don't ring a bell
There's others I have no idea of
Is it write, to write or to sell
A poet is plagued as a wordsmith
as their thoughts, are constant, a stream
the ink on the page, like, a musicians riff
is the success, or failure of dreams
The Caretaker
astride the gentle steed of nature
the nymph did guide its sharp beak home
into the golden hued ambrosia
around the outskirts insects roamed
The summer lady adorned with flowers
kept a watchful eye on the little nymph
as she passed her special gift, her powers
to her assistants, the brownie, pixie and slyth
The brownie ran through the Forrest floor
her touch bringing the summer buds to bloom
knocking on the animals doors
their seed collection, a promised boon
the pixie sprang from branch and flower
spreading colour of many a hue
For such was the summer ladies power
and she touched and shared where it was due
the slyth began her eternal sigh
lifting the new seed into the air
to get it planted, before the cry
the Queen of winter, it's now her care
the four continued their epic task
for none of the seasons last for long
The plants only had so long to bask
As autumn commenced to croon its song
the seasons play their role in nature
not one does stand alone
each one portrays a different stature
if one fails, nothing grown
Contest PIC;Pixie astride hummingbird lady looking on
© 3 months ago, Bill Hancock
New Australian
They came into Australia
from places far and wide
where the system failed you
no further place to hide
sailed into, the North Head Bay
Quarantine, into they go
diseases of, they must be clean
The Physicers, make them so
Not all the migrants, survived the race
the souls, of expired bodies left
rooms and tunnels, claimed in place
which overtime, the live have left
Company, comes scarce these days
from haunting tourists, as they tread
the dark and errie, passageways
of the station, on north head
The quarantine station in SYDNEY Australia and New South Wales, was located on the bay inside the Northern Headland of the entrance into the Harbour
Immigrants (who became the New Australians) came with TB, Cholera Typhoid and the other known diseases of the late 1800 to early 1900's
The migrants had to spend time at the station until they showed to be symptom free. Sadly not all made it, and it is said that their souls / Spirits still occupy the tunnels, rooms and cottages of the old Quarantine station to this present day - Ghost hunters regularly quest in there. It is also a tourist spot. © 12 minutes ago
Of questionable mastery
THE
FIRST TOME
There are many forms and styles
Of poetic expression that I am
Just beginning to be introduced to
And understand
A number were written prior to my joining the
All Poetry site and beginning my education
To me, poetry is rhyme and rhythm, but
It has form, as I have learnt.
This booklet will only allow 16 pages
Of which this is the second, so
The remaining 14 will carry a number of
Pre All Poetry, and post All Poetry
And hopefully you may perceive
An improvement
AMERICAN SUMMER
A Blackmans death, caused by police
Subsumes the brain, and reason kills
And primal animal contained, released
To the world displays their ills
Subsumes the brain, and reason kills
Property garners but scant regards
To the world displays their ills
Respect of any, is shattered shards
Property garners but scant regards
As need to possess, over rides all else
Respect of any, is shattered in shards
It’s take what you can, from any shelf
As need to possess, over rides all else
The reason for the riot is lost
Its take what you can from any shelf
The black man’s life
The reason for the riot is lost
As other feelings rule the mind
At looting time it’s free of cost
As Humanity leaves civilisation behind
As other feelings rule the mind
Mankind gone feral, no longer smart
As humanity leaves civilisation behind
A blackman’s dying, tore life apart
AGES OF MAN
A stage, they say a joke that is
A plank upon the ground
Players they say, the people is
They’ll beat you pound for pound
Their entrances and exits,
will keep unto themselves
and as for seven ages
that’s what this story tells
man begins all worm like
a kid a useless thing
poops, and pukes and whines a lot
and doesn’t earn a thing
Schoolboys next, Oh! God forbid
Why did we make this one
It must have been that point in time
When I did some stuff for fun
The lover , ah!, my ***** did melt
A poet he did try
The effect upon the mistress’s brow
Did make the eyebrow cry
The military man, so full of spit
And polish at the fore
Did play his part, with bearded kit
And veered the cannons gore
Age number six has changed the scope
To a lean and loudly man
Whose time is on the downward *****
And no longer in the van
Seven ages man will glory in
Not all we wish to recall
Love and home, and wondrous sin
As begun will finish small
Bedtime Story (Homework No 5 Pantoum
The child did love their bedtime read
With granddad sitting on the bed
The Knight & hero’s rearing steed
And in the story her childhood shed
With grandad sitting on the bed
The hero’s steed went racing past
And in the story her childhood shed
The royal queen she came at last
The hero’s steed went racing past
And stopped the dragon there and then
The royal queen she came at last
Helped herd the beast back to its pen
And stopped the dragon there and then
From having chook and pig repast
Helped herd the beast back to its pen
And granddad closed the book at last
From having chook and pig repast
The story ran down to the end
And granddad closed the book at last
The next book read, the child would lend
The story ran down to the end
No further words left to be said
The next book read the child would lend
With granddad sitting on the bed
Christmas Thought
We gather here on Christmas eve
to share part of the joy
2000 years ago this day
Mary would have a boy
that day affirmed mans place in life
the woman to her chores
and life upon this blissful earth
was governed by mans laws
years have past and times have changed
relationships are growing
of woman's emergence from the home
into the place of knowing
who knows what life would have been like
if Mary had, had a girl
would have have held his rightful place
or ended up a churl
no matter how it would have been
it is, as it is, to-day
kinds thoughts & joy to all mankind
with love on Christmas day
the feeling of love to all mankind
its stay is rather short
there is no place for thoughts like that
in a world where wars are fought
life's hard cruel lessons, shut us in
we dare not - extend or feel
until that time round Christmas eve
when we give thanks, as we pray and kneel
William Hancock penned: 20.12.82 (pre AP)
Faerie Symphony
brushing his fingers across the glistening crystals
produced a cacophony of harsh discordant notes
rebounding off the caverns walls and music thoughts did smote
Placing hands upon the crystals, calming down the thrum
fingers selecting differing lengths, did flex and start to drum
harmony like butterflies, did rise as motes in light
traversing down the caverns walls and drifting to the night
outside the valley trembled, uplifted, and it sighed
the gentle folk looked inwardly, but outwardly they cried
taking his fingers from the glistening crystals,
they died
LITTLE MISS MUFFET
Miss Muffet was a comely girl
and turned the heads of most
But wouldn't share her curds and whey
A really dreadful host
The field held an eight legged beast
Whose local name was schnider
He managed to get her curds and whey
when he went and sat beside her
It is better to share than to lose it all
Bill Hancock
07.04.2020
Fates Feast
watching his body, sink slowly into the tree
this I laughed is your, reward deserved for jilting me
laughed again, and watched his unmatched beauty fade
realised too late, the wastefulness of mistake I've made
the prince his body slowly turned, to timber light and fair
wondered sinking further in, I really thought she cared
I courted her with flowers and commented on her hair
It seems I would have better luck, If I had spoken to the bear
Revenge the forest maiden, reeked on the prince in spades
now he was ever with her, part of the forest glade
her demands she thought were simple, leave all and live with me
and feast upon the passersby for dinner lunch and tea
the prince he was a vegan who tried to sway her round
made out greens were good for her, beat meat, by the pound
the maidens heart was broken, in tatters lay her dream
when he refused, ensorcelled him into the forest green
These days on paths less travelled, in the forest down the way
a magnificent tree stands from the rest, its beauty on display
Not many pass it anymore, as they say it's haunted still
By the soul of the forest maiden, who died lonely on the hill
Hiccup of the Mind
Have you ever tapped the keyboard
Then looked at what was written
accessing where the thoughts were stored
And found the rhyming process stricken
Panic doesn't quite occur
Between the ears, a blank
words to page no longer purr
Encyclopedic knowledge sank
leave the keyboard and the chair
a glass with ice and liquid gold
Sip and savour, ceiling stare
berate ones self and blank mind scold
From off left field, revelation comes
fingers keyboarding begins again
The words you're reading are the sum
For from out of mind, letters do rain
Bad Location
Do they consider me
I don't think so
Other wise they wouldn't
Stand where they stand
Think of what it means
to be a tree
try to imagine where
my fingers are
The girl is standing on them
I choose this spot
For the solitude it promised
****** tourists
Macbeths Misadventure
(a parody of Bill Shakespeare’s Macbeth and the three witches brew a spell)
Macbeth whilst travelling stopped at the pub
A cauldron and three hats on the sign
Had heard from others how good was the grub
And entered with drink and a stew in mind
The cooks, three weathered crones did strive
To keep the patrons upright and live
this struggle you know was a hapless one
already knowing what went in the drum
Newt and frog and dog and bat
The first crone donned a pointed hat
Snake and adder worm and wing
The second crone donned the apron strings
Toad and venom, entrails too
The third crone added nightshade brew
Double trouble, don’t add no more
The broths near walking out the door
a steaming *** was served Macbeth
the sight of which removed his breath
The vapours turned his nose hairs green
His liver hid behind his spleen
A mouthful made his eyelids quiver
His entrails turned into a river
His mind did cartwheels in his head
Two mouthfuls and he’d be stone dead
Refusing nicely, he said had troubles
Left a tip, he paid them double
Listen not what others say
And live to see another day
The Musician
Resting her body on the chaired podium
And leaning slightly down to the left
Her fingers caressed the highly polished surface
Of the Cello
Left hand clasping the frets
And the right hand wielding the bow
She addressed the strings with a gentle wave
And made the music flow
Somber, sounds, moaned off the instrument
Quickening and they rose in tone and pitch
Wrapping around the chamber
In a haunting hugging melody
Rising, rushing, falling and softening
Harsh and hard, then silent, but wait
Hand twitches and the refrain returns
Only to die again, as the hand falls away
Returning the cello to its resting place
And the bow into its niche
Her hand runs gently over the polished timber
The caress of a lover and friend
The Book
A thing that comes in black and White
and some times in colours as well
with words and concepts, one can write
scenes and stories, in minds to dwell
it's such a simple seeming thing
two covers, some pages between
with words that have the authors ring
Fact or fiction the reader gleans
A simple start on bark or stick
or was it paint upon a wall
to carvings on stone walls and brick
waiting discovery, then tell all
today we progress further still
into the realm of digital times
where phone or tablet makes the ****
and hand held printed book declines
regardless of the current trend
hand held books are still much loved
and continue to be there to lend
for as long as man can use a pen
© a month ago, Bill Hancock
The Lizard Slithered
Crawling stealthy below the leaves
eyeing insects upon the trees
mosquito's winging with the breeze
the lizard slithered - tongue flicked free
eyeing insects upon the trees
climbing tree's to gain it's dinner
the lizard slithered - tongue flicked free
it must eat or grow much thinner
climbing tree's to gain its dinner
mosquito's high upon its list
it must eat or grow much thinner
though beetles added meaty grist
mosquito's high upon its list
the lizards belly filling fast
though beetles added meaty grist
none of its food was made to last
the lizards belly filling fast
cold air came calling in the breeze
none of its food was made to last
the lizard slithered - tongue flicked free
cm coli picture prompt lizard slithered 120 words © a month ago, Bill Hancock rhyme
Wordsmiths Hey
Have you ever wondered of poets
And the things they do try to write
Does it take, five minutes of writing
Or four candles worth, into the night
does the theme come from somebody social
or seeps out from ones deep inner dark
or comments from words thrown out vocal
from jibes that like barbs hit their mark
the words from mind's vault, start to line up
some jumbled, some straight, others curved
with a headiness, like good wine that's supped
A poet's souls being readied to serve
After theme, then the style is selected
And if rhyme, then the rhythm as well
If the endings or rhymes not connected
It's the poets, equivalent of hell
If freestyle, I'm not sure what matters
If Haiku, it don't ring a bell
There's others I have no idea of
Is it write, to write or to sell
A poet is plagued as a wordsmith
as their thoughts, are constant, a stream
the ink on the page, like, a musicians riff
is the success, or failure of dreams
The Caretaker
astride the gentle steed of nature
the nymph did guide its sharp beak home
into the golden hued ambrosia
around the outskirts insects roamed
The summer lady adorned with flowers
kept a watchful eye on the little nymph
as she passed her special gift, her powers
to her assistants, the brownie, pixie and slyth
The brownie ran through the Forrest floor
her touch bringing the summer buds to bloom
knocking on the animals doors
their seed collection, a promised boon
the pixie sprang from branch and flower
spreading colour of many a hue
For such was the summer ladies power
and she touched and shared where it was due
the slyth began her eternal sigh
lifting the new seed into the air
to get it planted, before the cry
the Queen of winter, it's now her care
the four continued their epic task
for none of the seasons last for long
The plants only had so long to bask
As autumn commenced to croon its song
the seasons play their role in nature
not one does stand alone
each one portrays a different stature
if one fails, nothing grown
Contest PIC;Pixie astride hummingbird lady looking on
© 3 months ago, Bill Hancock
New Australian
They came into Australia
from places far and wide
where the system failed you
no further place to hide
sailed into, the North Head Bay
Quarantine, into they go
diseases of, they must be clean
The Physicers, make them so
Not all the migrants, survived the race
the souls, of expired bodies left
rooms and tunnels, claimed in place
which overtime, the live have left
Company, comes scarce these days
from haunting tourists, as they tread
the dark and errie, passageways
of the station, on north head
The quarantine station in SYDNEY Australia and New South Wales, was located on the bay inside the Northern Headland of the entrance into the Harbour
Immigrants (who became the New Australians) came with TB, Cholera Typhoid and the other known diseases of the late 1800 to early 1900's
The migrants had to spend time at the station until they showed to be symptom free. Sadly not all made it, and it is said that their souls / Spirits still occupy the tunnels, rooms and cottages of the old Quarantine station to this present day - Ghost hunters regularly quest in there. It is also a tourist spot. © 12 minutes ago
